


Havana

by WernickesArea



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Comedy, It's Shall We Dance but J.Lo wishes she looked half as good as Yuta in a flowery shirt, M/M, a comedic attempt was made, dance teacher au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-07-29 03:47:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16256024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WernickesArea/pseuds/WernickesArea
Summary: When the music started, Doyoung wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground and disappear.Ten is convinced that his best friend Doyoung needs to spice up his life.And he might just have the right thing for him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I finally attempted to write something a little more lighthearted and with a feel-good, second-hand embarrassment taste to it. It was out of my comfort zone, honestly, but I wanted to try something different.  
> This was born on the day Havana was released and has been in my drafts for almost one year! Wow!  
> Hurrah to random bouts of productivity and desperation! 
> 
> Hope you guys will enjoy it! xx

“This is a joke right?”

Doyoung stared blankly at the bright pink flyer in his hand. The bold text was advertising some kind of dance school, small tropical flowers spattered here in there to decorate the empty spaces. It really didn’t help that whoever had designed said flyer had chosen one of the ugliest fonts Doyoung had ever seen. 

Ten sipped on his latte, shaking his head. “Nope. I’ve already signed you up for a free lesson.”

Doyoung’s head snapped up, eyes impossibly wide. “What?!”

“Listen, when’s the last time you either weren’t working or you weren’t rotting away at home watching your depressing dramas?”

Doyoung scoffed, letting the flyer in his hand gently flutter on the table. His coffee was getting colder, so he busied himself in finishing it up before it lost all its warmth – cold coffee gave Doyoung a bad case of _insufferable mood_.

Ten had a point, but he couldn’t give his friend the satisfaction of hearing him say that. His ego was already big enough, he couldn't afford to furtherly prove his theories about Doyoung right. It was a matter of pride.

“I’m perfectly happy doing what I do. I don’t see why I should join a dance class like some suburban mother going through a midlife crisis.” 

Ten raised his eyebrows, audibly slurping from his straw. 

Doyoung continued his rambling, ignoring the look his friend was giving him. “And I’ve been thinking about adopting a pet lately. Maybe a cat.”

“How about adopting a boyfriend?” Ten leaned over the table wiggling his eyebrows and smirking at Doyoung in that mischievous way of his.

Coffee went down Doyoung’s wrong pipe, throwing him in a coughing fit. “God— Ten!”

Ten laughed, leaning back against his chair. The leathery padding squeaked, the sound getting lost in the bustle of the coffee shop. 

“I’m just saying that you need to put yourself out there. Jaehyun is ancient history at this point, I know that you moved on, but you’ve been stalling.” 

Doyoung cast his glance back at the brightly colored flyer. Jaehyun had been his latest and longest story. They had been together for four years, having gone through university together. Doyoung had always thought that their relationship would last longer, the two of them making an enviable couple. But time plays with the instances of life, changing courses and splitting up paths.  
When Jaehyun had received the possibility to go back to the States to take up an important job, Doyoung couldn't see himself leaving his own career behind – he worked as an intern at a law firm. 

Just like that, they both made the shared choice of breaking up. That didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt. Doyoung had spent weeks on end closed in his small apartment, refusing to move a muscle outside of the automated routine of going to work and eating. His neighbor and friend Taeyong took it upon himself to clean up after his sloppy ass, keeping him company during those evening when being alone was just unthinkable for Doyoung.

It took time and a good amount of help from his friends, but Doyoung eventually got past the ugliest stages of the break up and was able to move along with his life. 

With a deep sigh, Doyoung tapped the lid of his coffee cup. “I’ll give it a thought. No promises though.”

Ten smiled brightly, reaching under the table to pat Doyoung’s knee. “That’s what I wanted to hear!”

* * *

The dance school was located in one of the most frequented areas of the city. The streets bustled with life, people enjoying their night in the company of friends and alcohol. Doyoung double-checked the address, the building it led to being the main quarter of a famous insurance label. He squinted at the long list of names and services listed on a plaque right beside the main door, but then his eyes found what he had been looking for.

 _Paradise Studio_.

Doyoung stalled outside a minute longer, going through his choices. He could ditch the class that Ten had signed him up for _without his consent_ and go back home where a cup of instant ramen and a rerun of his favorite drama waited for him. Or he could take the bull by the horn, plow through the class, show Ten that he still had control over his life and never show his face there ever again.

Sighing deeply, Doyoung decided to enter the main hall and call for the elevator. The sliding doors opened lethargically, a wide mirror reflecting back Doyoung’s image. He pressed the button for the right floor, and waited for the elevator to start moving. 

He checked his appearance in the squeaky clean mirror, cursing at the unflattering lights blinking above his head. They made his skin look sickly pale, his eyebags much more prominent. Well, not that it mattered, really. Doyoung was there simply to accommodate Ten’s request, not to look pretty. 

When the elevator doors opened, Doyoung found himself in a wide room that sported the name _Paradise Studio_ right on the opposite wall. Apparently, the school took up the entirety of the seventh floor, the timetable affixed on a wide corkboard indicating times and places for every class.

As Doyoung was taking in his surroundings, a short girl with bobbed hair popped up from an adjacent room and welcomed him.

“Hello, are you here for the free class?” 

The name tag pinned on her shirt read _Yeri_.

“Hello. Yes, I’m here for that.”

Yeri nodded, making her way behind the reception desk.

“What’s your name, Sir?”

Doyoung cringed at the formal appellative. Did he really look that old? He was barely in his late twenties. 

“Kim Dongyoung.”

The girl skimmed through a pretty long list of names that was written in a red notebook. Once she found Doyoung’s, she ticked it off and smiled up at him. 

“Perfect! Now, as you may already know this lesson is free and if by the end of it you decide to stay with us longer, just let me know. I’ll be glad to help you with your enrollment.” Once Yeri was done explaining some basics, she directed Doyoung towards the changing rooms. 

He dumped his bag on one of the few free benches, taking out his clothes. He had thrown inside an old ragged pair of sweatpants and a random t-shirt; the perfect picture of _Coming here wasn’t my choice_. Once he was done changing himself, he made his way towards the designated dance room. Before stepping inside, a sign affixed on the glass door caught his attention. It advertised some sort of Latin-American dances, the names vaguely reminding Doyoung of those terrible soap operas that he once saw. 

The class was already occupied by a dozen of people chatting amicably amongst each other. With a dawning realization, Doyoung saw how he must have been the youngest in the group, everyone having at least twenty years on him. He tiptoed to the far end of the room, wall-covering mirrors on his left and tall windows behind him. 

A lady smelling of kale soup and old perfume turned around to smile at Doyoung. She had wrinkles running along her neck, but her face looked unnaturally smooth. 

“We needed some youngsters to lighten up the atmosphere! What is your name dear?” She moved closer to Doyoung, inspecting him from head to toe. 

“It’s so unusual to see young men like you take part in these activities!” 

Doyoung wanted to push her back and save himself from inhaling more of her terrible eau-de-toilette, but his parents had taught him manners.

“I’m Kim Doyoung”, he smiled politely. “A friend of mine signed me up for this.” 

There was no better way to explain his situation without sounding rude.

The lady patted him on the cheek, nodding sagely. “Don’t you worry, you’ll soon warm up to us.” 

As the murmurs in the room slowly died down, she whispered one more thing. “And the teacher is such a _sweetheart_.” 

Doyoung blinked at her owlishly, before redirecting the attention at the front of the room. A man around his age had thrown the glass doors open, his blinding smile the first thing that caught Doyoung’s attention. 

“Hello everyone! How are you all doing?” 

A chorus of positive answers filled the space. 

“So, I’m seeing some new faces today.” The man’s eyes scanned the room in search of who exactly said new faces were, and when they fell on Doyoung, the latter redirected his gaze to the ground. All he wanted was to fly under the radar and get it over with. 

“For all the new students here, let me introduce myself! I’m Yuta, your teacher for this course! Let’s have fun together, okay?” He ended his presentation with a wink. Doyoung had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

Another chorus of excited voices surged as Yuta made his way towards the sound system. However, when the music started, Doyoung wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground and disappear. No wonder that the flyer that Ten had handed him looked like it did – the tropical flowers should have been a dead giveaway. To be honest, it was no one’s fault other than Doyoung’s for not having realized it all sooner. All the clues had been in front of him, clear as day, but they had flown completely over his head, leaving him in a dance studio with the typical upbeat tempo of samba blaring from the speakers. 

Doyoung’s blood froze in his veins. There was _no way_ he could do this. One thing was going along with whatever Ten had seen fit as a way for him to _get himself out there_ , but standing like a dead fish staring at some dude’s ass as he taught him how to count his steps to a chacha beat was a completely different one. Was it too late for Doyoung to fake some kind of sudden illness? Maybe an urgent call? 

With a hint of disappointment, Doyoung realized that he had left his phone inside his bag. _Fucking perfect_.

“Is everything clear until here?” 

With a start, Doyoung shook himself out of his panicked thoughts. There was no way for him to escape the situation at that point, so all he could do was at least try not to make a fool out of himself. Which was hard, seeing how even the old lady that he had spoken to earlier seemed to have more waist mobility than him. 

Doyoung blinked, lost like a fish in deep waters, as he tried his best to keep up with the rhythm. He was born a natural singer, that he could admit, but dancing was not his forte. 

At the front of the room, Yuta was counting each step with care. “One, two, three, four... yes, good! Turn your hips like so.” His right leg moved in front of his left, his pelvis jutting in such a way that Doyoung was at least half sure that if he tried that he’d dislocate something. 

As he focused his attention on the teacher, he took in his appearance. When he first had entered the room, Doyoung was too busy having a quarter life crisis to register anything else. Now, he observed the colorful shirt and dark, skinny pants that Yuta was wearing. He looked like he could be around Doyoung’s age, his hair tinted a colorful lavender. A smile plastered on his face at all times, his white teeth reflecting the bright lights of the studio and almost blinding Doyoung. 

He tripped over his own feet for the umpteenth time, a defeated sigh escaping him. Of course the teacher had to look like _that_ , with his cutting jaw and those darned _cheekbones_. To make matters worse, the fact that Doyoung’s image was being mirrored back to him from every corner of the room was a grim reminder of how he was dressed like he had raided a dumpster. 

Doyoung collected himself, his instincts of self-preservation kicking in. He couldn’t look any more haggard than this, so he just had to suck it up and hope for time to go by as fast as it could. Meanwhile, he kept his eyes trained on the teacher’s feet, hoping that his presence would blend into the group of dancing bodies. 

Right as the final notes of _Despacito_ came from the stereo and Doyoung could feel himself on the brink of insanity, Yuta’s voice cut through the air. 

“Okay! This is all for today!” 

Doyoung sighed a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging – he hadn’t realized how tense he was. The old lady in front of him was clapping happily along with all the other participants. Doyoung joined in, but with a lot less enthusiasm. The clock on the wall read 11PM and he wanted nothing more than to fall face first on his bed and forget everything that had happened until that point.

“Don’t forget to review those salsa steps, okay? Yes, I’m looking at you, Brenda.” Yuta joked.

“My husband will have to help me out.” A lady in her seventies ( _at best_ ) laughed. 

“That’s what I like to hear.” Yuta smiled, holding the lady’s hand briefly. “For everyone else, we will see each other next week. Also, I really hope that our new recruits had fun and that I’ll be able to see them again soon !” 

There was one last round of applause before people started to pick up their stuff and leave the room. Doyoung eyed the glass door, the long-awaited taste of freedom making him perk up and strut towards it. 

“Sorry?” 

Of course. Of course it couldn’t be that easy. 

Doyoung froze in his spot, his hand poised on the metal handle. 

“You are one of the newcomers, am I right?”

Doyoung turned around, coming face to face with the dance teacher. Yuta was looking at him with the same excitement in his features that had accompanied him all throughout the lesson. 

“... yes.” 

“I’m Nakamoto Yuta, nice to meet you.”

Doyoung blinked owlishly at the hand that had been offered him, before he shook it. 

“Kim Doyoung.” 

“So, how was your time here?”

If until then Doyoung had simply wished to go unnoticed, at that point he wished he could become as thin as air and disappear into the proverbial void. 

“It was… educational.” 

“Was this your first time attending a dance class?”

“Yes,” Doyoung replied, a slight pout making its way on his lips. 

“I could tell.” Yuta was wearing that same, irritating smile on his face.

Was that a jibe at Doyoung’s sub-par skills? Did Yuta just stop him to ridicule him for his failed tentatives at imitating cha-cha steps without looking like a headless chicken running around? 

Unaware of Doyoung’s annoyed stare, Yuta rambled on. 

“Not everyone’s born with this talent, but Latin dances are a good place to start for beginners.” 

Doyoung wasn’t going to let himself be mocked any longer by someone who was wearing the acid-trip equivalent of a shirt. A gruff _goodbye_ was on the tip of his tongue, when Yuta added more to his spiel.

“Anyway, I always give private lessons in case you might need one.” 

Doyoung’s thought process screeched to a halt. 

“I don’t think I will need them.” Was what came out of his mouth. 

Yuta smirked at him, pushing the door open with his shoulder. “It’s okay, the offer always stands. Goodnight, Doyoung.” 

And just like that Doyoung was left frowning confusedly at Yuta’s retreating back. 

Did he just get hit on?

* * *

The printing room was empty during that time of the day, the dated machines humming as they waited in standby. Doyoung pressed buttons on one of them, using his lunch break to finish up some overdue work. As the green, scanning light moved back and forth, he thought back to the previous night and to how surreal it had felt. 

He couldn't fully wrap his head around what had gone down: first the type of class he had landed himself in – Latin-American, was Ten for real? –, then the other participants and their ripe old age. Finally, came the teacher himself. 

Doyoung shook his head at the memory of their conversation, almost missing his phone vibrating in his pocket. He answered the call without checking the caller ID.

 _“So, how did it go?”_ Doyoung could hear the smug smirk on Ten’s face.

He played around with a piece of paper, folding and unfolding it.

“Hello to you too, Ten. I’m fine thank you, and you? No, I did not have lunch yet, but thanks for worrying about me.”

 _“You’re so dramatic.”_ Ten snorted. 

“I will take that as a compliment.”

_“You really aren’t going to tell me anything, are you?”_

“What if I didn’t go?”

_“Please! You went, I know that much.”_

Doyoung furrowed his brows, stapling some pages together. “You wish.”

Ten tutted, the sound of a car horn momentarily covering his voice. _“I have to go now, but don’t think that you’re safe! You’ll have to talk eventually! Bye~”_

Doyoung sighed, scowling at his phone. 

“And what if I went.”

He aggressively jammed a pile of papers into a copying machine, pressing down on the _Start_ button with far too much strength. 

“I’m not going back,” he muttered to himself, “ _ever_.”

 

Yet, Doyoung could feel the shame creeping up his back when the following week he was standing right in front of the same elevator that would take him _exactly_ where he had sworn he’d never set foot again. He huffed, repeatedly smashing the button with the floor number on it. He spent the rest of the elevator ride scowling at his shoes, refusing to stare at his own reflection in the mirror; he would only end up wanting to punch it. 

Maybe during the course of the week he had realized that, as Ten had so eloquently put it, he couldn’t rot at home watching dramas or working. Crazily enough, his body had seemed to enjoy some time spent moving and not decomposing on his living room couch. He still had his fair share of doubts though, feeling like if at any moment he felt the need to flee the premises, he wouldn’t hold himself accountable. 

The elevator doors dinged open, and once again he was standing in the waiting room with the writing _Paradise Studio_ staring back at him. 

“Welcome back!” A cheery voice rang from behind the main desk.

“Have you decided to join us?” Yeri asked, politely bowing to Doyoung. 

“Apparently,” he replied. However, his vague response didn’t seem to alarm Yeri, who simply moved to pull out a form for Doyoung to fill in. 

“The first payment is due next week, so make sure to provide that, please.” 

Doyoung grimaced at the amount, but still made a mental note to do that on his free day. He signed three times, his eyes not even taking in all the clauses and points written in the tiniest font known to mankind, before he handed the papers back to Yeri. 

Short and fast, just like taking off a bandaid. 

“You’re all set. Welcome to Paradise Dance Studio, Sir.”

It felt almost as ominous as if Doyoung had signed up to join a cult of some kind. He moved to the side when an alarming amount of old couples started trickling into the room, heading to what Doyoung suspected was a dance class meant to _spice up_ their marriages. He shuddered.

Doyoung waited for the last people to move along, before he leaned over the counter. Yeri was busy typing away on her laptop, probably not even realizing that he was still there. 

He was getting cold feet. 

“Could I maybe get those papers back, I didn’t read the part about receding from—”

A voice cut through the air right as Doyoung was sneakily trying to get his sign-up form back from where it was still left lying on the counter. 

“Yeri, I’m taking Sicheng’s class tomorrow, too!” 

Doyoung jerked back, almost tripping over his own shoes. Yeri looked up from her work, nodding at the man who was peeking from the open studio door down the hallway. 

“Sure! One Yuta Nakamoto reserved for tomorrow’s class too!” 

Yuta laughed, giving Yeri a thumbs up. On his part, Doyoung had been slowly creeping his way back so that he would be out of Yuta’s sight. However, his totally stealthy moves got messed up when he bumped into one of the chairs in the waiting room. Yuta stepped out of the practice room, catching sight of Doyoung.

“Oh! Doyoung right? Here to join the _fun_ side?” Yuta waggled his eyebrows. Doyoung was dangerously close to bolting out of the door. 

“I guess so,” he replied with a strained laugh. Yeri was back to typing away on her keyboard, and Doyoung was afraid that he would be left alone to conversate with Yuta. 

Fortunately, the man had a class to teach, so he excused himself – but not before leaving Doyoung with a _See you next week_ and an obnoxious wink.

Doyoung fled the building with burning, red ears.

* * *

The same old ladies from Doyoung’s trial class were there on his first official lesson too. They greeted him excitedly, complimenting him for his choice. They wouldn’t stop badgering him with the fact that new generations didn’t understand the importance of young men learning how to woo their ladies with _Some good dance moves_. Doyoung kept his tight lipped smile on as he nodded along. He wasn’t about to correct a bunch of hags over his preferred gender to woo. 

Yuta was there too, in all of his tight pants, flowery shirts glory. His hair had grown longer, and small, golden hoops were dangling from his ears. His signature bright smile was sitting on his lips, stretched wide as he moved to turn on the music. 

It was out of Doyoung’s comfort zone. Every move, every step – every shake he had to make with his hips, everything. Yet, unexpectedly enough, it had started to grow on him. 

As weeks turned into months spent attending those dance lessons, Doyoung found himself enjoying them more and more. Even those old ladies who would bore him to no end on his first days were starting to have a place in his life (Doyoung got a kick out of hearing them share their stories of their teenage years). 

On more than one occasion, Doyoung found himself practicing the newly learnt steps in front of his wall-length mirror, Miss Tibbs staring at him from her spot on the dresser – he had gone and got himself a cat, too. He felt like his life was finally changing, and he owed so much of it to Ten.

 

“See, I told you! You just needed to make your life-juices flow again.”

“Excuse me, my _what_?” 

Ten and Doyoung were out for drinks, Doyoung having decided to finally give in and let his friend know that he had gone along with his plan and that said plan had actually done some good.

“Your life-juices, your chakras, whatever new-age hocus-pocus you wanna call it.” Ten sipped on his mojito, looking pointedly at his friend. “Point is. You’re moving on, and that’s what I love to see.”

Doyoung snorted, but he had to agree. He was feeling some kind of positive energy in his life, and he enjoyed it. 

“God, I can’t believe I had to feed your ego like that,” Doyoung griped. 

Ten tutted him, asking the barman behind the counter to serve them two shots of _Something strong please, we’re celebrating_. 

They clinked their glasses together, before downing the liquor. Doyoung’s whole throat was on fire, and he had to hold back from coughing up his lungs. He was still struggling, when Ten turned to him.

“Is the teacher hot?”

Doyoung felt another bout of coughs coming on. He fixed Ten with a deadly stare, his brows furrowed.

“Why do you need to know?” 

“Well, first of all, dance teachers are usually hot. Look at me for example.” He made a show to flip his hair back, as Doyoung rolled his eyes. “Second of all, I’m just curious. Can’t a guy be gay and ask about your hot dance teacher?” 

Doyoung huffed, but a smile was playing on his lips. 

“He’s obnoxious,” he said.

“Is that code for _He’s Got a Great Ass_?”

Doyoung glared at Ten. “No, that’s code for _Fuck Off_.” 

“Oh my God, he does!” 

Ten moved closer to him, his breath heavy with alcohol as he whispered conspiratorially: “What’s his name?” 

“I need to go.” Doyoung slammed a handful of bills on the counter, standing up from his seat. 

Ten gasped, following him out of the bar. “I have my means to get to know stuff, Kim Doyoung! You can’t hide from me forever!” 

As Ten yelled the last sentence, Doyoung was already sprinting in the direction of his apartment. He didn’t want to hide from his friend forever; he just hoped that he could hide long enough for Ten’s curiosity about Yuta to wane off. 

Which could turn out to be an awfully long time, and Doyoung could live off of canned food and ramen only for _so long_. (He had left his traumatic college days behind himself for good.)

Truth be told, there wasn’t even a definite reason for Doyoung to want to hide Yuta’s existence from his best friend. There was nothing to hide to begin with. 

Yes, Yuta was king of good-looking and he did have a B side worth of a double-check. And mayhaps there were also the recurrent times when he would strike up a conversation with Doyoung, right after the end of each class, holding him back until no one was in the studio anymore. 

During those times he had learned that Yuta had moved from Japan to study at his dream dance school. He had worked many different side jobs to support himself, since he didn’t come from a wealthy family. It was admirable, how he learned a new language and put his best efforts towards his dream. Doyoung’s heart squeezed every time Yuta recounted his struggles to fit in as best as he could. 

But that was that. 

Nothing of relevance to hide… right?

* * *

There were droplets of sweat dripping along Doyoung’s back, making his shirt stick to his warm skin. He had been pushing himself more than usual, his breath coming out in heavy huffs. 

Yuta clapped his hands, dismissing class for the day. Cheers and compliments were being thrown around, praises for getting through another lesson. Doyoung dried his sweat-matted bangs with the hem of his shirt, scowling at his own reflection in the mirror. 

He had been trying to get a particular step down, something new that had been messing with him all throughout practice. No matter how focused he was, he couldn’t nail it. 

When even the last chatters ebbed away, Doyoung realized that he had been left alone in the room. The air reeked of sweat and deodorant, his nose crinkling in distaste. 

“Is everything okay?” 

Yuta was leaning against the glass door, feet pointed to hold the weight. Doyoung redirected his stare to his own feet, suddenly looking all too graceless in his secondhand high-top sneakers. 

“Yes,” he replied. It didn’t sit right with him though, so he corrected himself: “Or, not really.”

Yuta raised his eyebrows at him, cocking his head to the side. 

“Hit a hard place?” The man asked, pushing his shoulders against the door and righting himself. 

“My body is just being uncooperative. Like, it’s not working like it should?” Doyoung felt like that explanation didn’t make much sense, but it did seem to summarize his struggles up until then. 

Yuta walked up to him, offering him a smile. “I’m sure your body is working perfectly fine. I can see it during class: you work hard.” 

Doyoung felt bashful. Yes, he had been trying to give it his best when it came to dancing. It had grown on him, like ivy tangling around and up his limbs. He loved it, and hearing someone recognize and appreciate his efforts made pride bloom in his chest. Especially if that someone was Yuta, whose love for dancing could be seen pouring out from him in waves. 

(Another reason why Doyoung enjoyed those classes so much was how passionate Yuta was about his art; it was almost touching. Of course it was part of his job as a teacher to share his knowledge, but somehow it seemed to run deeper than that.)

“I must look as gracious as a snapped twig,” Doyoung retorted. It wasn’t in his style to be so self-deprecating, but he had been feeling particularly discouraged. 

Yuta shook his head, moving to stand behind him. 

“No, you’re good. Here.” He grabbed him by his forearms and pushed him closer to the mirrored wall. Suddenly, Yuta’s hands dropped to Doyoung’s hips. 

“First, you need to move _these_ a little more,” Yuta pointed out. Doyoung could feel the man staring at him through the mirror, but he couldn’t lift his eyes from where they were glued to his feet. 

Doyoung could feel his back warming up, a flush rising along his neck. Was the A/C on? He was going to get a stroke. 

“Then…” Yuta used one of his feet to push Doyoung’s legs open wider. “Right foot first.” 

Doyoung nodded, following along to the instruction. Yuta’s hands were still on his hips and he needed to stop thinking about that if he cared about his own well-being. He took a deep breath in. 

“Okay, now move your shoulders like so,” Yuta pushed his chest harder against Doyoung’s back, “it will make the next step easier.” 

He was breathing right into Doyoung’s ear, puffs of breaths following each one of his directions. The air had stopped smelling like a used gym, but rather Doyoung could take in Yuta’s cologne, tangy and summery. It fit well with Yuta’s image, with his sunny smiles. 

“You have to accompany your movements with your whole body.” 

Yuta’s breath was still too close to Doyoung’s ear, but now he could feel it on his neck too. The blood was rushing in all the wrong directions, and as Doyoung took a stumbling step forward, he disentangled himself from the other. 

“Okay, time to go home,” he announced loudly. He bowed to Yuta, thanking him for his assistance and strode into the changing room. 

Doyoung didn’t even bother putting on his clean clothes; top priority was getting out of there asap. 

He threw his belongings haphazardly into his bag, before he speeded towards the elevator and out of the building. When fresh air hit his too-warm skin, cooling down the flush that had settled heavily on his ears and cheekbones, Doyoung cupped his face in his hands. He let it hang in embarrassment, before he told himself that he could never let Ten know of what had just went down. 

_Never_.

 

“Did you guys smash?”

Doyoung slammed a hand on his kitchen table. A carton of half finished pizza and two glasses of wine were placed in between he and his best friend, Ten. Who, by the end of the night, could be stripped of such title if he didn’t stop thinking with his dick for one damn second. 

But he couldn’t totally blame him. Doyoung himself was aware of how alcohol had him opening up about things he would rather keep in the dark. And he was also aware that Ten would be over that night, and that he knew how to take advantage of a thoroughly tipsy Doyoung.

In the end, he had set himself up. 

“Why,” Doyoung tasted out the words before trying not to make them sound as biting as they did, “do you assume that there has been any _smashing_ involved?” 

Ten shrugged, crossing his legs. He picked up a crust and started nibbling on it. “Just my fickle wishes of knowing that my best friend’s sex life doesn’t start and end on low-rated porn.” 

“Please stop bringing that up.”

“I will try. But you need to give me something to work with here.” Ten pointed the half-munched pizza crust at his friend. “Did he do the smashing?” 

“Ten,” Doyoung warned. 

“Did _you_ do the smashing?” 

“We barely know each other.” 

“But you think he’s hot.”

Doyoung heaved a sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “If I concede that, will you stop assuming that we fucked?”

“I knew it! He’s hot.” Ten looked like the cat that got the cream. 

“Yes,” Doyoung chugged down his glass of wine in one go. “And he’s got a great ass.”

“Ugh, of course he does. How old is he? I don’t want this to turn into a _He could be my dad_ kind of situation.” 

“ _My dad kind of—_ ” Doyoung snorted. “God no, he’s—” 

He stopped, pursuing his lips. He didn’t know how old Yuta was exactly, but he did look to be around his age. Doyoung told Ten just that, the latter heaving a sigh of relief. 

“Okay, crisis avoided.” Ten picked up another slice of pizza and munched on it thoughtfully. “Damn, I really wanna meet him. Can I go along to your next class?”

“Absolutely not!” This time, Doyoung slammed his glass on the table. He cringed inwardly, watching as it trembled in his grasp. Alcohol was bad for his impulse control. 

“But I wanna see him,” Ten whined.

The incessant whining and prodding of his friend had Doyoung finally break. 

“Fuck, I will take a picture of him or something,” he conceded.

Ten’s eyes lit up in glee. “Promise?”

Doyoung waved him off, going to pour himself some more wine, yet only a couple of drops dripped into his glass. He might need to uncap a new bottle if he wanted to survive the rest of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter added oops..

Work had been hectic, to put it nicely. Doyoung had been running around all day, answering calls and furiously printing new copies of the weekly assembly outline, since his coffee had spilled all over it half an hour before the meeting was due. One of his coworkers had called in sick, leaving him his load of assignments to complete, and Doyoung wanted nothing more than to dunk his head into the water dispenser and drown himself. 

That night, he entered the dance studio with the sole hope of sweating away his daily stress. As he looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he told himself that nothing and no one would interfere with his well-deserved peace of mind. 

But as he set foot into the practice room and caught sight of Yuta smiling at him, his brain blared alarm bells full force.

“Hey, there,” Yuta greeted him. He scanned Doyoung from head to toe. “You look like a wreck.” 

“Bad day,” Doyoung replied. The two of them were surrounded by all the other students, chatter filling the space. A stark contrast to the last time they were in that room, Yuta’s hands firm on Doyoung’s hips, hot breath on his neck. 

Doyoung needed a holiday. A holiday in the middle of nowhere. For a brief moment, he wondered if he could afford that. 

“Let’s cheer you up, okay?” Yuta’s eyes grew gentler, as he signed for Doyoung to take his place. 

And for a good hour Doyoung could forget about his worries. It wasn’t a holiday in a tropical island, but somehow Yuta’s warm smile did make him feel rejuvenated. His high strung muscles slowly loosened up, his brain only needing to focus on each step of the choreography. 

The end of the lesson came all too soon, Doyoung dreading those unread emails that were waiting for him at home and that he hadn’t been able to go through during the day. 

He was on his way to exiting the practice room, when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

_**From: Ten** _  
_still waiting on that promise~~~_

Doyoung stared in confusion at the message. What was Ten even talking about? But then it hit him. _That promise_. 

Shit. 

He had completely erased from his mind the borderly idiotic promise that he had made to his friend the previous week. He suspected that his brain had deleted the memory as a mean of self-preservation. 

Doyoung wanted nothing more than to ask Ten if they could drop the whole _Taking a picture of the hot dance teacher_ altogether, but he knew that he couldn’t do that. Despite his easygoing attitude, Ten was able to hold a grudge for _years_. It wasn’t worth it. 

So, Doyoung steeled himself. 

Yuta was standing by the sound system, chatting to a couple of people. From where he stood, Doyoung couldn’t possibly take a decent enough picture, but worst of all he could be spotted in the bat of an eye. So, he made his way to the lone bench lined up the wall. There was a gaggle of old ladies sitting on the other end, too busy exchanging methods of glazing ham to notice him. 

Doyoung leaned back against the wall, raising his phone and looking as innocent as he could. He was able to snap a good bunch of pictures; as he went through them he thought how Ten couldn’t complain about the amount of material he would be provided with.

“I’d say take a picture and it will last longer, but I see you’re already ahead with that.”

Doyoung jerked his head up from where he was scrolling through his camera roll. Yuta was staring down at him with a grin on his face, hands on his hips. 

“It’s not what it seems,” Doyoung blurted out. It must have seemed _exactly_ what it looked like, but he couldn’t sell himself away so fast. 

Yuta’s grin grew wider. “Oh, is it?” 

Doyoung cast a fugitive glance in the direction of the door. If he sprinted at a decent speed, he could make it out of there in a handful of seconds top. However, his legs were still recovering from the tiring practice, so he would just look like a geriatric patient escaping the ward.

Yuta chuckled, tipping his head to the side. “It’s okay, I know that I’m totally irresistible and I’m actually flattered.” 

Doyoung blinked out of his escape plans to level Yuta with an unimpressed stare. “I said that it’s not what it seems. The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

It was unfair to lie to his face like that, but his ego didn’t need to be inflated any further. 

Yuta’s brows pulled down into a scowl. “Damn, okay. Someone brought their attitude along.” 

“You know, I could really say the same about you,” Doyoung bit back. 

Yuta had stepped closer to him, crowding his space and looking down on him. Doyoung refused to break eye contact. It was a matter of pride. 

“You might want to cool that short fuse down.” 

Laughter erupted from beside the two bickering men, catching their attention. The group of ladies beside them was looking at them with glee in their eyes. 

“Oh dear, just like my husband. He has a short fuse too, that old bear,” one of them piped up.

“At least that’s the only short thing he has,” another one added, before the group erupted in laughter once more. 

Doyoung and Yuta were left looking at each other in utter shock. They exchanged matching astonished and veiled disgusted looks, before they broke into hysterics. 

“Please, tell me that we didn’t just hear that,” Doyoung muttered. His sides were hurting.

“Trust me, doing this job I’ve heard far worse” Yuta added. “You have no idea what old, married ladies go around saying.” 

Doyoung didn’t doubt it one bit. As he recomposed himself, he took notice of how his phone was still tightly held in his grasp. Oh right, he had been sneakily taking pictures of Yuta before he got caught red handed. 

A new wave of shame and embarrassment took over him. Maybe it was high time for Doyoung to vacate the premises, but he didn’t even get to move an inch that Yuta plopped down on the bench next to him. 

Yuta cleared his throat, nudging Doyoung with his elbow. “At least let’s take a good picture.” A playful smile was dancing on his lips, eyes full of mirth. 

Doyoung smiled back, pulling up his phone and setting it to his front camera. 

 

_**To: Ten** _  
_2 images attached_

_**From: Ten** _  
_omggggg  
u did itttt_

_**To: Ten** _  
_be grateful_

_**From: Ten** _  
_shit  
he’s hot _

_**To: Ten** _  
_told you_

_**From: Ten** _  
_mmmmmm  
i think ive seen him somewhere_

_**To: Ten** _  
_are you satisfied now?_

_**From: Ten** _  
_for now_

_**To: Ten** _  
_Blocked._

_**From: Ten** _  
_kissykissy doyoung  
goodnight~~_

Doyoung glared at the bright screen of his phone, cursing at his ungrateful best friend. He scrolled back up to the pictures that he had sent, Yuta’s figure slightly tilted from the angle. Even the stolen pictures had turned out well. With a sigh, he opened his camera roll, tapping on the most recent one. 

Yuta and Doyoung were smiling at the camera, both of them pulling up peace signs. It looked a bit silly, how Doyoung had his eyes closed and Yuta had a piece of his hair falling half in his eye. 

Maybe one day Ten would be able to see that picture, too.

* * *

The main hall of Paradise Studio had been thoroughly redecorated, Doyoung noticed upon stepping out of the elevator. Flower garlands ran from one end of the room to the other, colorful posters hanging on the walls. Behind the counter, Yeri could be seen sporting a patterned dress, a hibiscus flower tucked behind her ear. 

“What’s the occasion?” A lady asked, excitedly picking up one of the knock-off flower leis sitting in a basket. Yeri perked up from behind her station, smiling at the people who had been praising the decor. 

“Someone wanted to liven up the place, but ended up raiding Party City.” Yuta laughed from where he had just walked out of a service room behind the counter. Yeri glared at him, punching his shoulder for good measure. “Oof— but it does look good, doesn’t it?” He grimaced. 

Doyoung prodded with his finger one of the garlands that were hanging far too low from the ceiling, making it dangle in the air. It did look pretty. 

From behind the counter, Yuta picked up a handful of flower necklaces and made his way towards Doyoung. “For you,” Yuta said, placing one around his neck. 

Doyoung scrunched his nose. “I might need a margarita to go along with this.” 

Yuta laughed, moving to add another one. And then another. 

“Stop!” Doyoung tried to bat away his hands, but Yuta was faster.

“You get extra ones as prize,” he explained. 

“Prizes for what?” 

Yuta’s eyes glinted. “For being my best student.” 

Doyoung felt a blush rise to his cheeks. He gnawed on his lower lip, letting the compliment fill his chest with something warm. 

“It’s all thanks to the teacher…” He replied, his gaze meeting Yuta’s eyes. “You’re really great.”

For the first time, Doyoung caught Yuta being at a loss of words. He had a small, grateful smile playing on his lips; and was that a blush on his cheeks, too? It was the first time Doyoung had seen such a reaction from him and it knocked his breath out of his lungs. 

There was a moment of silence, something thick in the air. 

A loud ringtone played right as Yuta was on the verge of opening his mouth. Doyoung cursed under his breath, taking out his phone from his pocket and answering the call. It was Ten on the other line, his excited tone informing his best friend about a job offer he had just gotten. 

_“This feels so surreal, am I dreaming?”_

“You worked your ass off for that. You deserved it!” 

_“Thank you, bestie.”_ Ten paused for a moment. _“Wait, don’t you have dance class on Thursdays?”_

“Yeah, I’m here right now.”

_“Is Yuta there?”_

Doyoung frowned at the question, but directed his gaze to where Yuta was – leaning against the wall, checking his own phone.

“Why do you want to know?” 

Ten was acting suspicious. More so than usual. 

_“Can you pass the phone to him?”_

“What.”

_“I just want to ask him something. Remember when I said that I saw him somewhere? Turns out, we went to the same international students program in college! Isn’t that crazy?”_

“That’s great and all, but I’m not going to pass the phone to Yu—” Doyoung stuttered out the last part, because Yuta was now questioningly staring at it. “I—”

_“Is he there? Put me on speaker!”_

Doyoung bit the inside of his cheek. Another glance at Yuta had him sigh in defeat and tapping the speakerphone option on the screen. 

“You’re live,” Doyoung mumbled, waiting for Ten’s cheery voice to fill in the awkward silence. 

_“Oh, right! Hi Yuta, I’m Ten! Doyoung’s only friend.”_ – The latter scoffed. – _“This is out of the blue and all, but by any chance did you attend the IS program at NU?”_

Yuta’s eyes lit up as they flitted shortly to Doyoung before falling back to the phone in his hand. “Yes, I graduated last year actually.” 

_“Oh my God, I knew it!”_

And just like that, the two of them launched into a conversation about teachers and classmates, reminiscing over those days. All whilst Doyoung waited around like a third wheel, still holding up his phone and having to listen to the whole thing. He wished the earth cracked in two so that he could disappear into its depths. 

“Hey dude, you should come up to the studio some time,” Yuta said to Ten. 

Ten agreed to the suggestion and once the two said their goodbyes, Doyoung brought the phone back to his ear. Yuta had waved at him and mouthed that he would wait for him in the practice room.

Once he was out of earshot, Doyoung hissed into the receiver: “What was that?”

_“Oooh, is someone jealous? Don’t worry, I’m not trying to steal your pretty boy. I’m just going to do some field research for you. You will thank me.”_

“Ten, I swear to God, if you say anything strange I will personally shave your hair off. With a rusty knife.” 

_“Trust me. I won’t do anything stupid, I promise.”_ Ten was speaking in a more serious tone, which made Doyoung feel less worried. He trusted his friend, but he couldn’t help freaking over this new development. 

“Okay, catch you later.” And with that, Doyoung ended the call and finally joined practice. 

 

On Sunday, Doyoung spent his day lazily lounging on the couch, Miss Tibbs napping on his stomach. A soft breeze was entering from the slightly open windows, ruffling the cat’s soft fur. The television was playing some random cooking show, the host rambling about how to cook a perfect omelette. Doyoung scoffed at the demonstration. 

“Yeah, like anyone could do _that_ , Karen,” he mumbled under his breath. 

Miss Tibbs yawned, making Doyoung yawn in response. He was going to settle down for the second nap of the day, when someone knocked on his door. Doyoung grumbled, feeling too lazy to get up and go open, but whoever was on the other side was being insistent. 

“Coming,” he yelled, startling Miss Tibbs who ran into his room. 

When he opened the door, he was welcomed by Ten’s smile. “Hey there, I bring news and coffee.” He lifted up a cup of Americano, shaking it in front of his friend’s face.

Doyoung gladly accepted the offering, making way for his friend. Ten took off his shoes, diving on the couch. 

“Hey, that’s my spot,” Doyoung argued. 

“You have two couches.” 

“Yeah, but I had warmed that one up.” 

There was no arguing with his friend though, who had already made himself comfortable. Doyoung sighed, resigning himself to take the spare sofa. 

“Why do you even have two of these?” Ten asked while patting the soft cushions. 

“One is still here from when Jaehyun had insisted on buying it. He liked the color apparently.” 

“That’s a dumb reason for getting another couch but _okay_.” Ten cut that conversation short, sitting up straighter. “So, don’t you want to know what news I bring?” 

Doyoung sipped his coffee, humming. “Didn’t you hang out with Yuta today?”

“Exactly! Don’t you want to know the details?”

“Did you guys make out?” 

Ten glared at him, hitting his knee. “I told you I didn’t have such intentions with him.” 

He then went on to add with a smirk on his face: “Plus, he’s totally got it bad for you.”

Doyoung pursued his lips against the rim of the cup. “If you say so.”

“No, listen,” Ten hopped from the couch he was sitting on to the free spot next to Doyoung. “We were supposed to just hang out and dance a bit, catch up and all that jazz. But I swear, he couldn’t stop talking about a tall idiot who he thinks as _his best student_. Ring any bell?”

Doyoung froze in place, warm cup tightly held in his grasp. “He really said that?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Ten nodded excitedly.

“Did—” Doyoung licked his lips. “Did he say anything else?” 

Ten scoffed, diverting his eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Oh come on.” Doyoung set his coffee down so he could grab his friend by the sleeve. “Spill.” 

But Ten was as unmovable as a rock.

Doyoung pouted. “... Please?” 

Ten laughed, turning around to pat him on the head. “I won’t tell you what he told me, but I will say this: you should ask him out.” 

That took Doyoung by surprise. Ask him out? 

“No way.”

“Yes way.” Ten waggled his finger. “Don’t you see?! This is your time to finally stick something else aside from your ugly dildo up your a—”

Doyoung launched himself at his friend, covering his mouth with both his hands. “I swear, I’m going to murder you in your sleep.”

Ten smirked, not adding anything more. At that moment, Miss Tibbs emerged from the bedroom meowing, pawing at Doyoung’s leg. 

“Let’s go Miss Tibbs,” he picked the tiny ball of fluff up. “You’re the only one I respect in this household.”

* * *

When Thursday rolled around, Doyoung still hadn’t stopped going over in his head what Ten had told him. Apparently, Yuta had been clear about his intentions with Doyoung, and the latter wasn’t surprised by that. The flirting had been laid down thick enough for Doyoung to be able to pick up on it even if he was a clueless nimrod. And he sure wasn’t.

The thing that left him to think was the fact that Ten wanted _him_ to ask Yuta out. He didn’t feel like he had enough guts to do that, at least not yet. He might need a little more time. Perhaps a month, to get psychologically prepared – which might turn into a year or two. No big deal. 

Doyoung was lost in thought for so long, that he didn’t realize that he had gotten off the elevator and was now inside the dance studio. He passed by the counter where Yeri was scribbling on her notebook, waving at her. 

“Hi Yeri, how are you?” 

Yeri blinked up at him. She had her short hair up in a cute ponytail, tiny strands framing her heart shaped face. “Hello! I’m fine! What brings you around here?” 

Doyoung furrowed his brows. He checked the calendar sitting on the counter. “I’m here for class. As, you know, usual.” 

“Oh,” Yeri bit her lower lip, confusion clouding her features. “I’m sorry but I was sure that I had sent emails to everyone, letting you guys know that today’s lesson is postponed.”

Doyoung’s mouth went slightly agape as he racked his brain trying to remember if he had ever received such an email. He took out his phone, pulling up his inbox. Sure enough there was the message Yeri had talked about, sitting in his _Read_ pile. The whole thing had completely flown over his head. Old age was scary.

“Let me check, maybe I didn’t—”

“No, don’t worry. It was my fault, I totally forgot about it.” Doyoung sighed, shoulders going slack under the weight of his bag. “This is such a pain.” 

He smiled at Yeri, thanking her for her time, before he made his way towards the elevator. 

“Doyoung! Wait!” Yeri called out for him, running out of her spot behind the counter. She looked a lot shorter than he had thought, her feet skidding along the floor as she caught up to him. “Do you have to leave right now?”

“No, I’m in no rush.”

Yeri nodded resolutely, running towards the hallway leading to the practice rooms. “Okay, please wait there for a moment!” 

She disappeared from his sight, Doyoung left staring curiously at the corner behind which she had scampered off, waiting. He heard the sound of voices and blaring, hip-hop music momentarily filling the studio, before it was silent yet again. Steps were approaching the entrance hall, and Doyoung couldn’t resist from walking forward to check who was there. 

“Doyoung!” Was what he heard before he collided with a sweaty figure. 

He stumbled back, an arm sneaking around his waist to stop him from falling. Yuta was staring at him with wide eyes, sweaty hair pushed back and out of his forehead. His clothes were different from what Doyoung was used to see him in – a baggy shirt and sweatpants low on his hips. 

“Careful, we don’t want grandpa breaking his hip.”

Doyoung swatted Yuta on his arm, the latter laughing his heart out. “You should see your face, you look like a scared rabbit.” 

Doyoung had heard about his resemblance to the animal his fair share of times, but hearing him from Yuta made him especially sulky for some reason. He scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “If that’s what you wanted to say, I might as well go.”

After Yeri had stopped him from leaving and had disappeared somewhere inside the studio, Yuta had showed up. Doyoung wondered. Had Yuta been waiting to talk to him? Had he especially entrusted the young assistant to fetch Doyoung in case he showed up? The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to bury his head in the sand and let his brain cool off. He took a step back, trying to put some distance between his worryingly speeding heart and the man in front of him.

In the blink of an eye Yuta reached out to grab Doyoung's forearm. “Wait.”

He had gone back to his more serious demeanor, his jaw set despite his trembling eyes. Doyoung bit the inside of his cheek. For some reason, he thoroughly enjoyed seeing Yuta acting desperate – it chipped away from the headstrong facade that he had built and showed specks of his real self. Doyoung wanted to see more of Yuta’s real self.

“Are you free this Saturday?”

Doyoung blinked in surprise, his heart lodging in his throat. 

“Yeah, I am,” he managed to get out. His voice got lost in the emptiness of the room. 

Yuta's smile was blinding. “Great! There’s this place I’d like to show you. Is that okay with you?”

“That’s fine.” Doyoung felt the corners of his lips tilting upward. “Where are we going?”

“Secret.” 

“I take it back, I am suddenly _very_ busy.”

Yuta pouted, tightening his hold on Doyoung’s forearm – he had yet to let go. 

“Please, you’ll love it. I promise.”

The room was still filled with Yeri’s decorations, flower garlands dangling above their heads. As the dimmed lights of the hall hit each piece of trimmed silk, colorful highlights were being projected onto Yuta’s features. Doyoung bit his tongue, cursing at how deep in his feelings he had already got.

“Give me your number, I’ll pick you up. Okay?” Yuta’s voice was gentle, his eyes searching for Doyoung’s ones. 

“... sure.” 

Doyoung watched as Yuta took out his phone and handed it to him. He put in his number, debating whether he should put in his full name or stick to something less formal. He eventually typed a simple _Kim Doyoung_ in.

“Are you sure you’re not going to take me somewhere suspicious?” Doyoung asked, handing the phone back. Yuta gingerly held it in his hands, staring at screen with a smile on his face.

“What, like a strip club?” Yuta laughed, drying a drop of sweat that was rolling down his temple. “Don’t worry. It’s going to be a hundred times better.” 

Doyoung hummed, following with his gaze the movement of Yuta’s hand, as it raked through his lavender hair. The tips of his ears were red, his feet shuffling on the ground. Doyoung felt a sudden burst of boldness lighting up his veins.

“It’s a date then?”

He watched as Yuta’s ear turned even redder. He couldn’t hold back a smirk at the sight. 

“It’s a date,” Yuta confirmed. 

They parted ways, shyly waving at each other. Once outside, Doyoung stretched his arms above his head, nervous energy flowing in him. He took a moment to get his heart to settle down, when he got startled by his phone vibrating to life. It was a text.

_**From: Unknown Number** _  
_forgot to mention_  
_regarding where i’m taking you this weekend_  
_you should dress to impress ;)_  
_see u on saturday!_

Doyoung's thumbs hovered above the keyboard, stalling for a reply, when more texts started flooding in.

 _this is yuta btw!!!_  
_not that you'd have more than one date planned_  
_or so i hope_  
_pls dont two time me that'd make me sad :(_  
_ok im sorry ill go now_  
_bye_

Doyoung laughed until he was bent in half. He looked forward to Saturday.

**Author's Note:**

> Let's go Doyu Nation, let's go ♥


End file.
